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Wednesday, November 25, 2009

In honor of Thanksgiving and to show my gratitude and appreciation for our readers, I am going to post the first chapter of my book, Nora's Soul, for you to read. I hope you enjoy it, but mostly, I hope you have a wonderful holiday tomorrow filled with laughter, good times and great food spent with the people you love.

“Angels don’t exist.”Nora Kendall chanted the phrase, just under herbreath, as she wove around the linen-draped tables that stoodbetween her and the ladies’ room. Angels don’t exist.Another table skirted. Angels don’t exist. Another stepcloser. Angels don’t exist.She thrust open the door with a jab of her hand thatsent it rocking against its hinges. Only when she’d scurriedinside the plush sanctuary and the door slapped shut in herwake did she give thought to the possibility of anotherperson on the other side of it. She glanced around with aguilty start before collapsing against the burnished wood inrelief at the realization that she was quite alone in the room.Good. No one to witness her breakdown.For what else could it be? What other explanationwas there for her sudden sighting of the—no! It didn’thappen. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just alittle flight of fancy caused by heightened excitement overthe prospect of receiving a proposal tonight. Yes. That wasit. A flight of fancy.She inhaled a breath that sliced against the back ofher throat like a razorblade. Swallowed hard. Inhaledanother. Yes, she silently coached herself, that’s it. You arecalm, you are serene, and nothing can upset you now.Nothing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Good.Her serenity restored, Nora pushed herself awayfrom the door and stood before the mirrored wall over thebank of black marble sinks. Her reflection in the mirrorstared back, unblinking. Controlled. Good, she thought.Wonderful. As it should be. All trace of her ridiculous notionwas firmly out of her head. No more silly thoughts regardingmessengers of God and acts of mercy and—“Stop it, Nora!” she hissed under her breath,squeezing the edge of the black marble counter until herfingers bled white from the pressure placed upon them.“Stop it.” She reeled in a cleansing breath, once again metthe impassive gaze of the woman in the mirror. Elongatingthe syllable of each word, she reiterated, for her own benefit,“Angels do not exist.”She withdrew a tube of lipstick from the microclutchpurse that dangled from her left wrist. “They are justfigments of some very active imaginations,” she said,pausing to trace her full lips with the pale pink tip. Herreflection followed suit. “But they have no basis in fact.They don‘t exist.” She pursed her lips to test the cosmeticcoverage; nodded once, satisfied. “Not for me. Notanymore…”Her voice faltered. She dropped her gaze from theall-knowing woman in the mirror. No fooling her. She knewthe truth. She was there through it all, the bad and the worse.Nora’s constant companion in life and delusion. No, therewas no fooling the woman in the mirror. Only she knew thetruth about the angels—the real truth. The full truth. She wasthere through it all. She knew. Peter…Memories of her brother rolled through her mindlike the reels of an old movie. Cracked, withered around theedges; the images in the center still vivid. Still powerfulenough to steal the breath from her lips, the beats from herheart. Peter.The beautiful soul who gave of himself even when ithurt to breathe—no, especially then. So self-sacrificing…hewas the sun rising in the east, hope stretching across the skyin a streak of electric colors, painting the world bright evenwhen it was its darkest. Not just the world. Her world. Andthat was the way she saw him whenever she conjured hisimage in her mind—as she often did. Standing in the sun atthe beach in Ogunquit, his body outlined in gold, pink andpurple, arms lifted high in joy…A part of the sunrise herelished. Laughing. Exuberant. Alive.He was everything to a young girl just learningabout life. Death. And the futility of fighting againstmortality, whether it was one’s own—or that of a belovedbrother. Everything she needed to know she learned the dayshe fought a losing battle against death. Her brother’s death.But how could she truly have expected to win when her onlyweapon was prayer?Yet she fought like a warrior, girded in faith, usingher weapon of choice to its full advantage on thebattleground of the hospital chapel. She prayed. Lord, howshe prayed. For a miracle. A gift from God. Anything to saveher brother.She prayed until the color bled out of her knucklesfrom the strength of her clasped hands. Until her legs wereattacked by pins and needles before they went numbaltogether from the hours of kneeling on an unforgiving pew.Until she was delirious with fatigue. Hunger. Thirst. Thenshe’d prayed some more. Always the same prayer. Over andover.“Please, God, don’t take my brother.”A simple phrase, really. “Please, God, don’t take mybrother.” But over time, diluted, the words running togetherin a stream of incoherence. In the eleventh hour, sheexpanded upon the prayer.“You can’t take my brother. He’s a good person,he’s never done anything wrong. Take me. I should be theone to go. Everyone knows I’m not always good. But notPeter—he’s always good. He always does the right thing.The world is better with him in it, so please don’t take himaway from me. I promise I’ll do better, I’ll be nicer—whatever You want. Just…please let him stay alive for me.Please.”But it was all for naught, she discovered when shewas summoned back to his room for the final “blessing.” Inthe end, the will of God proved stronger than that of afrightened twelve-year-old girl. Peter died despite all of herprayers. He left her with a final request:“Don’t give up your faith in miracles, in angels,” hesaid, even as the breath left is body in a wheeze. “They’rereal. They’re here…now. They’ve come for me…they’rebeautiful, Norrie.”He used his last breath to make Nora believe.He failed.The day they put the small box containing hisemaciated body in the ground, she went home and removedall things angelic from her room. Ripped pictures from thewalls, tore up postcards in her drawers, cut up a comforterbearing their likeness. Dropped all of the remnants of angelsinto a metal trashcan outside and lit a match. She stood closeto the fire—sometimes too close—peering into the flamesuntil all things angelic were reduced to ash before her eyes.She spent better part of her teen years continuing topurge herself of these images despite their annoyingtendency to materialize in her room. In her locker at school.In her first car. She tore them, shredded them, burned them.Still, they showed up. The same images. Again and again.Tacked to her walls, stuffed in her locker, dangling from therearview mirror in her car. She dealt with them in silenceuntil the day her hard-won control finally snapped and sheconfronted the presumed source of the images.“Mother!” She shouted the word repeatedly until itfinally drew the object of her anger up to the second floorhallway where she waited. “I thought I told you I don’t wantthese things around anymore!” she said, and she tossed ahandful of angel pictures at her startled mother. Then shetook a defensive stance, fists planted on hips, chin thrust outas far as it could go, and waited for her response. “Well?”But her mother just stood there as the angelsfluttered around her in a mockery of true flight, wearing herserenity as a shield against Nora’s anger. In fact, Nora couldalmost feel her rage glancing off her mother‘s body andturning back on her, two times stronger. How could she dothat? How could she remain so calm, keep such a steadygaze as she watched Nora through the cloud of papercutouts? Dammit, why did she have to be so Donna Reedwhen Nora wanted her to be more Joan Crawford? At leastthen, she would feel justified in lashing out at her.But this—this was just not right. How could shefight with someone who wouldn’t fight back? No, she juststood there, watching Nora with a hint of question in herpale blue eyes. She didn’t even flinch when the wing of onecreature glanced off her left cheekbone, just below the eye.She just stood there and waited until the last cherub found aresting place at her feet and then, ever calm, Jane Kendallsaid, “Honestly, dear, I don’t know where these came from.”Seriously?“Oh, so I suppose they just materialized—” Norawiggled her fingers in a magician-like manner “—on theirown?”“Maybe Joelle put them there,” Jane suggested.“You know how she is. Did you ask her?”“She denied it, too.” Nora shook her head incondemnation of her mother and her best friend. “You twoare unbelievable. You’re probably in on it together.”She closed her bedroom door with a soft click,separating herself from the compassion she saw etched in hermother’s face. She didn’t need it, after all; she was doing justfine on her own. She just didn’t want reminders of Peter’sblind faith and God’s failing her to hang around, mockingher. Symbolizing her own failure.Her trip down Memory Lane was abbreviated by thesudden opening of the restroom door. She jumped nearly outof her skin before she could check herself.“Oh, sorry,” said the intruder in a wispy voice, “Ididn’t mean to startle you.”“It’s all right,” Nora assured her, even though shefelt the exact opposite. She forced a smile for the otherwoman, who was dressed in the black and white ensemble ofthe restaurant’s wait staff, complete with pristine apron tiedabout her nonexistent hips. “I was just…lost in mythoughts.”“Are you okay?” the waitress asked, solicitously.“Your date was kind of worried when you jumped up andtook off like that. He asked me to check on you.”Her date. Carl Beckett.“So,” the waitress asked, “are you? Okay, that is?”No, I’m totally losing my mind, Nora thought. Butshe said, “Yes. I’m fine. Just felt a little queasy for a momentthere. Nerves—not the food. I haven’t even eaten yet. Wehaven’t ordered. I’m expecting some good news tonight andI just got totally overwhelmed. But you really don’t need toknow that, do you?”The waitress simply smiled at her and said, “Well,all right, then. As long as you’re okay…?”Closing her eyes on her humiliation, Nora facedforward, toward the mirror, once again. “Yes,” she saidthrough tight lips, “just fine. Could you tell him I’ll be out ina few minutes?”But everything wasn’t fine, Nora acknowledged toherself when the waitress promptly withdrew from thedamask-walled bathroom. Far from it, in fact, not that she’dadmit that to the woman who’d served their drinks. All wasnot well. She just couldn’t determine the why of it yet.The date was proceeding well. Carl had picked herup on time—a first in their nine months of dating—and hedidn’t grumble about the traffic or the poor parking in herneighborhood as he usually did. In fact, he’d appearedalmost cheerful. Cheerful and—expectant.Was that why he brought her a box of chocolatesand a bouquet of red roses? Was he expecting somethingfrom her tonight? After all, he didn’t want to “make a habit”of spoiling her, as he’d told her in the early days of theiracquaintance; he didn’t want to build their relationship on afoundation of materialism.So it was either one or the other if he brought heranything at all. The longer they were together, the moreoften he arrived empty-handed. Not that she minded. Sheshared his belief that their relationship should be based onsomething more solid than insignificant gifts, especially ifthey were committed to it for the long run. And she was. Soit was a nice surprise when he presented her with the twogifts.But the capper was their ultimate destination:Zuzu’s, the trendiest new restaurant in the city. Unlesssomeone had a name with clout, they could expect at least athree-month wait on the reservation list before their namemoved to the top. But Carl had gotten them in andimmediately ordered a plate of oysters and a bottle of theirfinest wine.All in all, the perfect date. Until she’d found herselfracing toward the relative safety of the ladies’ room, whereshe lectured herself on the existence of angels.They’d been at their table, she nervously anticipatinghis broaching of the “important subject” he’d alluded to inthe car, he squirming upon the dollhouse-like chair in suddendiscomfort. Which heightened her own anxiety. She couldonly think of one reason, after all, that a man would becomeso flustered with a woman: He was going to make astatement that would have a profound effect on both of theirlives. But as he opened his mouth to do so, her attention wasdistracted by the presence of a golden-haired figure clad allin white.He just moved behind Carl, like an apparition, andsuddenly, her whole world kicked into reverse. The actionsof the surrounding patrons and wait staff ground to animpossibly slow pace where sound couldn’t even intrude.They were just a blur, a smear of color against the backdropof a glittering canvas.She’d glanced from the white shadow to Carl, whosemouth yawned wide on a word she couldn’t hear. Her gazeflicked back to the white shadow. She couldn’t see his facefor the glare of his stark white suit. That struck a chord offear in her. Why was he the only one she could halfwaymake out? Why wasn’t his figure as distorted as the others?Why was he crossing her path today?The last question had jolted her out of the stillnessthat encased her and sent her scurrying off to the bathroomlike a child just awakened from a nightmare, even as theactivity around her resumed its normal pace and sound level.“No,” she told her reflection now, “no, Nora. Itwasn’t an angel. They don’t exist. Get a grip and go back outthere. You’re about to hear something that’ll change yourlife forever.”Giving herself a reassuring smile, Nora squared hershoulders and left the ladies’ room, unaware of the silentfigure, dressed all in white, standing against the far wall,watching her go.“…So,” Carl concluded, his gaze falling just southof hers, “there’s really nothing keeping us together.”Nora stared at Carl for a moment as if she were in atrance. What was that? She saw his lips move, but—what didhe say? Another moment passed before she somehowmanaged to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right.”She gave her head a little shake to clear it of its lethargy.“Did you just say—nothing keeping us together?”Carl cleared his throat, shifted his stocky frame onthe chair that squeaked in protest. He was hiding somethingfrom her. Usually, he was rather straightforward. So—whatwas it?“I think,” he began, faltering over the words, “we’dbe fooling ourselves if we try to pretend there’s somethinghere when there isn’t. We want different things, Nora. Youwant a lifetime commitment done up with all the trimmings.And I want…freedom. I’m just not ready to settle down rightnow, Nora,” he said, meeting her gaze for the first time sincehe began his obviously-rehearsed speech. “I thought I mightbe—I mean, you’re a great girl and all and if I was going tosettle down with anyone, it’d be you, but—”“Who is she, Carl?” Nora asked, her voice littlemore than a whisper. “This isn’t about me. I know it. Youknow it. So do me a favor and just be honest. Who is she?”Dropping his gaze once more, Carl admitted, “Afriend of my mother’s. I know there’s that whole agedifference thing, but I’ve got to admit I’ve always been kindof attracted to her and, well, she’s just gotten a divorce soshe doesn’t want anything more than sex, either…”He was leaving her for an older woman? How couldthis be happening? Rubbing a finger along the furrows oftension between her brows, Nora asked, “Then what’s withthis, Carl? Why bother with the candy and the flowers andthe fancy restaurant? And the oysters! Why would you orderoysters if you were planning to dump me?”“I like oysters.”“You like oysters,” she repeated as if she werelearning a foreign language. Why did that one phrase soundso incongruous when added to the rest of the conversation?Oh, Lord, she was losing her mind. First angels, now this.Carl shifted on his chair again, rested an arm on thepostage stamp of a table as he leaned toward her. His voicelowered, he said, “Look, I know what this time of yearmeans to you—your mother told me all about it before sheset us up, she told me holidays were hard because of yourbrother dying near Thanksgiving—and I feel like a total ass,I mean the timing sucks, but…Doreen wants to go away forThanksgiving and I really can‘t do that without feeling like atotal heel if I‘ve still got you here, holding out for a ring anda chapel.” He took a breath before plunging forward with theadmission, “I just wanted to soften the blow. I’m sorry if Imisled you.”Nora passed a trembling hand over hair scraped backfrom her fresh-scrubbed face in a severe French twist. Shehad to get control of herself, but—she couldn’t believe thiswas happening. Couldn’t believe that the “somethingimportant” to which Carl had eluded earlier was their futureapart, not together. Everything was planned out in her mind,so…where did she go from here? Well, at least he was beinga gentleman about it. So good for you, Carl, she thought.You are a true gentleman.At least she thought so, until he said, “Listen, I hateto cut out on you so early, but you took a lot of time in theladies’ room and I promised Doreen I’d meet her at seven totake her granddaughter trick-or-treating and I’m already late.So why don’t you stay, enjoy the wine and oysters—oh, andorder anything you want for dinner. Don’t worry about theprice. I-it’s the least I can do. I’ll just tell the staff to put it onmy tab. How does that sound to you?”“Great,” she lied, even as she thought, He’s leavingme for a grandmother. Bad enough that there was anotherwoman, worse still that she was an older woman, but—agrandmother? Seriously? Hiding her trembling lips behindher wine glass, she reiterated the lie, “Just…great.”“Wonderful! I knew you’d see reason,” heexclaimed in relief. Jumping from his chair—which hesomehow managed to catch in his large hand before ittoppled over—he skirted the table to her side and placed agentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re a good girl, NoraKendall. I’m really glad I got a chance to know you.”“Me, too,” she lied again, closing her eyes. Whywouldn’t he just go away already? Stop dragging it out, Carl.Just go away now.“Oh, here,” he said and she felt him thrust somethinginto her clenched hand. Something papery. Money? “For theride home. I’ve really got to go now. Doreen’s going to killme.”Nora didn’t open her eyes to look at the bill in herhand until she heard him move away from the table. A fiftydollar bill. He gave her a fifty dollar bill for a taxi? Add thatone to a list of firsts.“Excuse me, Miss?” a voice sounded at her rightshoulder, startling her out of her reverie. “Your date sent meover to see if there’s anything I can get you.”Glancing up with disinterest at the owner of thatpheromone-laden voice, Nora perked up when she noticedthat he was cloaked all in black when the waiters’ attire wasrelieved by white shirts and red boutonnières. But not thisman. Everything was black, from the silk of his shirt to theleather of his shoes. Even the flower in the lapel of his longblazer was black. How odd.“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to force thebefuddlement from her brain by knitting her brows together.“I didn’t…what did you say?”Oh, man, why did he have to be so attractive? Shecouldn’t think straight as she stared up into the perfection ofhis face with its dark eyes and the even darker hair thatframed his sculpted face in long, curling tendrils. Now, thiswas more to her liking! If only she could concentrate onwhat he was saying.“Your date thought you might like to order now,” herepeated. “So, would you?”“Yes—yes, that would be good.”“So what can I get you?”“I don’t know, anything—everything,” she said in anoff-handed manner. “You decide.”A slightly decadent, devilish smile slid across theman’s full lips then, robbing Nora of any further capacity forcoherent speech. “As you wish,” he said in a voice so deep,so resonant and beautiful, it rumbled through her, wreakinghavoc with all of her senses.She just smiled and watched him go, her eyes drawnto his physique like an artist’s to the statue of David. Man,she thought as he disappeared into the kitchen, what was thebigger sin? Having a body like that—or ogling a body likethat? If it was the latter, she would gladly commit the sin. Itwasn’t like she was hurting anybody by enjoying the view,after all, and this was the only time she’d ever be able to eatin a place like this, so why not indulge?She had reason to re-think that sentiment when thesculpted waiter proceeded to bring out one of everything onthe menu.An arctic wind assaulted Nora as she left the warmthof the restaurant behind her. It arose from nowhere to swirlaround her, slicing her to the bone and stealing the breathfrom her lips. Where had that come from? Nora wondered. Itwas only October, for heavens’ sake. Granted, it was the lastday of October, but still. . . A little early for the deep-freeze.With a shudder, Nora huddled beneath her cape asshe paused at the street corner. Uncertain. What was shesupposed to do now? She’d planned to grab a bottle ofexpensive wine on her way to celebrate her good news withJoelle, but those plans were dashed. What was she tocelebrate now? The rather polite way Carl had let her down?The fact that she’d somehow managed to retain her dignitywhen all of her plans for the future lay shattered at her feet?Should she give herself a pat on the back for not creating ascene and making it easier for Carl to dump her? She simplydidn’t know what to do now.Maybe she should get the wine anyway andcommiserate with her old friend instead. If nothing else,Joelle would find the humor in the situation—as she alwaysdid—and maybe it would lessen the sting of betrayal.A gentle tug on her cape released Nora from herfretful ponderings. Startled, she glanced down—into a sweetpixie face that boasted the widest blue eyes Nora had everseen on a child. Despite the sadness and confusion thatpermeated her soul, she couldn’t help but to smile at the girl,who was dressed in an angel costume.At Nora’s encouraging smile, the girl ventured in allinnocence, “Are you a good witch…or a bad witch?” Sheignored her mother’s dismayed gasp and held firm againsther restraining hand as she awaited Nora’s answer.A twitch at the corner of her lips was the onlyindication that Nora found humor in the question. Preservinga serious manner, she squatted down before the girl, her capeflaring prettily about her, and said, “I’m a good witch.”Happiness lit the girl’s face as she turned to hermother. “See, Mommy? I told you she was a good witch!”Nora intercepted an apologetic look from the womanbefore she ushered her daughter away with an admonishing,“Come along, sweetie, it’s time to go home.”The girl’s response was swallowed up in the noise ofcity traffic as they receded from Nora. With a bittersweetsmile, Nora pushed herself up from her crouch, glancedabout. For the first time that night, she actually saw thehorrifically-decorated shop windows with their mummiesand monsters, cauldrons and spider webs, witches and bats.A reminiscent sigh escaped her. Oh, how she’d once lovedHalloween…The memories barely had time to take root in hermind when she was suddenly presented with a cigarette. Shedeclined the unspoken offer with a shake of her head withouteven verifying who extended it. The cigarette disappeared assuddenly as it had appeared.“You don’t smoke?”At the unexpected sound of that voice, Nora jumpedas if someone had touched a live wire to her spine. Her heartset up a dangerous cadence in her chest; she pressed a fistagainst it in a vain attempt to establish calm. Breathed in.What was he doing here? And out. Had he followed her? In.Well, of course he did, ninny. Out. But—why?She turned to confront the black-clad waiter from therestaurant—and immediately faltered at the sight of himstanding there. Maybe it was the casual pose, legs bracedslightly apart. Or the way he regarded her with an inquisitivelook and a radiant smile. Whatever it was, he literally tookher breath away and made her forget what he asked her. On awhim, she just shook her head to the negative and hoped itwas an appropriate response.His smile enigmatic, he released a cloud of bluesmoke on a sensual sigh and watched her through the haze,his eyes intent, laying bare her soul. He held her prisonerlike that for what seemed like a lifetime condensed into oneminute before he spoke again. When he did, it was on adifferent topic. “All didn’t go well in there, I gather.”“No. I expected…”“What?”“Something that wasn’t there,” she murmured. Withgreat effort she shifted her gaze away from his toward thecity traffic racing past them in a blur of Technicolor andexhaust fumes. Shaking herself free of despair, she half-turnedback to the waiter whose face was now wreathed in aring of cigarette smoke. “I have a really bad habit of doingthat.”“Doing what?”“Holding out. Waiting for something to materializethat doesn’t exist.”“Kind of like angels,” he said. “People say they’rethere, but if you can’t see them or hold them in your hand…”“Do they really exist?” she finished the thought forhim. With a shiver, she burrowed deeper into her cape andscanned her surroundings as if trying to remember whichway to turn. “Guess I better be off,” she said, her voiceholding little conviction. “You take care now.”“Oh, I will.”“And try not to smoke too much,” she advised,glancing back at him. “It’s hell on your lungs.”“I know,” he said with an ironic twist of his lips,turning the cigarette about to study the burning tip. But hemade no effort to put it out, apparently undisturbed by thereminder of its health risks. “Devilish habit,” he added withrelish.“Well,” she said, stepping off the curb at a break inthe traffic, “I’m off now.” With a fragile smile in thewaiter’s direction, she disappeared into the clamor thatsurrounded them.Dante had little time to enjoy a low chuckle over hisencounter with his quarry—oh, sorry, Nora Kendall—beforehe felt the air shift about him. The current of warmthassaulted him from behind. Wonderful, he thought, just whathe needed now to put a kink in his pleasure.Peter.He didn’t turn to acknowledge the other; that wouldbe the gentlemanly thing to do and the devil knew he was nogentleman. He inhaled, long and deep, on his dwindlingcigarette. He released the smoke through his aquiline nose inone continuous stream. And waited.His patience was rewarded a moment later whenPeter stepped out of the shadows, his stark white attireshimmering bright against the blur of color that surroundedthem. The picture of the perfect angel. Dante’s lips curled indistaste.“Well, well, look what the wind blew in,” Dantesaid.If he had expected Peter to respond to that bait,Dante was destined for disappointment. In fact, it barelyregistered a reaction as he halted alongside Dante on thesidewalk. His tone barely tolerant, but just as deep andmusical, Peter asked, “What are you doing here, Dante?”Flicking a glance at him, Dante ignored the questionin favor of taking another pull on the cigarette. Hedeliberately blew the smoke into the man’s angelic face—and chuckled in delight when Peter waved the smoke awaywith an agitated gesture.“Peter,” Dante pronounced as the wind picked upabout them, whipping their long coats about their sculptedthighs like flags at full mast. “I should’ve known you’d behere tonight.”“You didn’t answer my question.”“I know.”“What do you want with the girl?” Peter demanded.“What do I ever want with them?”Silence stretched out before them relieved only bythe sound of their coats flapping against their legs. Peterfinally broke it by saying, “You can’t go on like thisforever.”“Oh, yeah? Watch me.”“Oh, I will.” Peter glanced toward the midnight-darksky as a rumble of thunder sounded above them. “And youcan be assured that I’ll do everything in my power to preventyou from achieving your goals.”“I’d expect no less.”“But let me tell you one thing. Soon—perhapssooner than you think—you are going to be brought to yourknees by a woman so pure, so innocent, your existence asyou know it will be completely undone and you will servethe purpose you were meant to serve. And not your own.”

From Nora’s Soul, by Margay Leah Justice, published by Second Wind Publishing LLC (Nov. 2008), available on Amazon.com.